


A voice, a chime, a chant sublime

by filenotch



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Candy, Christmas, M/M, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filenotch/pseuds/filenotch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney's relationship with the Christmas spirit goes deeper than you might think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A voice, a chime, a chant sublime

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Zoe Rayne's prompt "candy or otherwise -- someone singing, and peace in some way, shape, or form"

Rodney groaned when he came in to John's room. Johnny Cash. For all that John kept a poster of him, he only played his music when he had feelings he couldn't deal with, as if substituting a gravel voice for any words of his own. And damn if Johnny Cash couldn't just suck the life out of a Christmas hymn.

> Till ringing, singing on its way  
> The world revolved from night to day,  
> A voice, a chime, a chant sublime  
> Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And who knew Johnny Cash knew a word like sublime?

John lay on the bed, another bad sign. He usually kept his hands busy, cleaning his gun, polishing golf clubs, leafing through months-old sports magazines. No, he lay with his hands folded on his chest, listening.

"Um, hi," Rodney said, and cleared his throat.

"Oh, sorry." John sat up, turned down the music, but didn't turn it off.

"I brought you something." Rodney waved his peace offering in the air. Two peppermint candy canes. Jeannie had sent him three, one from each of her family, she had said, and he was only keeping one. John looked at him as if confused, and Rodney suddenly worried that he didn't even _like_ candy canes, and it came out of his mouth as soon as he thought it. "I mean you probably don't even like these, but with Christmas in just a few days I thought you might like something, you know, traditional."

"How many did she send you?" John asked.

"Four," Rodney lied. "I thought I'd share."

John leaned over and took them from his hands. "Fifty-fifty?" He looked pointedly at Rodney.

"Well, no." He couldn't lie very well under the best of circumstances, and this was not the best of circumstances. "Sixty-six point six repeating to thirty-three point three repeating, or thereabouts."

"Nope, give me the other one."

What? Rodney thought. Oh, John must have thought there were six. "There were only three. The, uh, skew is in your favor."

At that, something changed in John's face. "Two peppermint candy canes to replace my favorite knife."

"I," Rodney began. He hated this. "Look, they needed it, and you can get another one. That one piece of technology is going to change the way they live. They'll be able to, well, do a lot of disgusting things to animals and fish that they can't do now."

"And when do you care about that kind of thing?"

And that was what embarrassed Rodney. He didn't care, or at least he never wanted to let it show when he did. He hid it under his habitual layers of complaint and scorn. Something in that village, in those people, had touched him. They were ignorant peasants, yes, but the questions they asked as they led him over the abandoned Ancient city had shown a certain sophistication of thought. And yet, they were using stone knives, and not even good ones, thanks to cullings by the Wraith. 

So he said, "I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

They looked at each other for a long moment. At last, John nodded.

"So," said Rodney, gesturing with a rolling motion, "is there any way to segue this conversation into make-up sex?"

He was surprised when John threw his head back and laughed.

"Only you, Rodney. Only you."

"So is that a yes?"

"It's a yes."

"Oh, good." Rodney began to shuck his clothes, only to find John laughing at him again. Johnny Cash was singing some blues song now, and it all felt ridiculous, and Rodney had to laugh, too. John stood up and pulled off his own clothes, and Rodney sat on the desk chair with his trousers around his ankles to take off his boots, and whenever they looked at each other, they laughed.

When they were on the bed, John looked at him and said, "I won't mess with your Scrooge image and tell people you gave Tiny Tim my Bowie knife."

"Bah," Rodney answered, as sardonic as he could, and for some reason they didn't laugh again. They kissed, running their hands down each other's flanks, skating fingers across chests, stopping to tease nipples, and hardening without touch. They began to push their hips toward each other, looking for contact and for friction.

John pulled back and got up, stepping to the table where he'd set the candy canes.

"Is this any time for snacks, or are you worrying about your breath?"

"Want to try something," John answered, peeling back the wrapper. He bit off a piece of the end, put down the candy, then leaned down and breathed in Rodney's face.

The smell of peppermint and _John_ was almost overwhelming, and Rodney pulled up for a kiss, but John was already gone, his head moving lower. Rodney could hear the candy in John's mouth, clinking against his teeth, and then the hot breath was on his dick. And then the dick was in John's mouth.

John rolled the piece of candy around Rodney's shaft with his tongue, and there wasn't any way to describe that sensation. The only thing that came close was a guy with a tongue stud, but this went beyond that. Wherever the candy had been, a trail of heat was left behind. The peppermint heated his skin beyond the warm wetness of John's mouth. If the song at that moment was Silent Night, it didn't apply to Rodney.

And so it went, a soft sting of heat on his cock, and John working him with no move to do anything that would push Rodney to the next level. He had never been so turned on and so far from coming, basking in the strange tingle of the peppermint. At last he realized that the sensation of the hard candy was gone, leaving only John, with his mouth and hand finally taking on a rhythm. If that rhythm matched the pa-ru-pum-pum-pum of Jonny Cash's bass voice, it only bothered Rodney for a second or three. Before the song was over, he was spilling into John's mouth.

John moved up the bed to lie next to him. When Rodney recovered himself, he reached for the candy cane, taking a deliberate bite and looking John in the eye before moving down. He wanted to give John as good as he got, but he wasn't prepared for how much fun it was to roll the cylider around, to taste the mint and the musk together. Only when John started thrusting into his mouth did he concentrate more on John's needs rather than his own enjoyment. But getting John off was a pleasure in itself, and Rodney applied himself to the task.

Semen and peppermint. He filed away the memory of drinking John down as he bucked in his mouth, flavored with candy. He pulled his mouth off slowly kissing John's cock once, and feeling foolish as he did so.

He moved up next to John, head on his shoulder and a leg thrown over. It was as close as they could be, and they needed that to fit on the bed. In silence they listened to the rest of the disc.

The last song bothered Rodney. It was a ballad about a boy without clothes, and his widowed mother. She wove him clothes fit for a king's son on a harp, which didn't make sense to Rodney, but she died doing it. 

When the music ended, they lay in the quiet, and John eventually said, "I like that song."

**Author's Note:**

> The last song is [The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver](http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/millay/ballad/ballad.html), by Edna St. Vincent Millay  
> [The Christmas Spirit](http://www.rhapsody.com/johnnycash/thechristmasspirit) by Johnny Cash


End file.
